Beginnings
by penvision
Summary: A multi-chaptered look at the beginnings of Ariadne's and Arthur's relationship, because all grand things start out small.  And they're adorable.  First chapter:  the airport.  Being re-written and continued.
1. The Airport

AN: I've never gone back to one of my stories and rewritten it before, but I never liked what I did with this one and, for whatever reason, seem to be re-obsessed with Inception, Arthur, and Ariadne. I will definitely do the next chapter and plan to continue the story.

…

The Airport

The last twenty minutes in the first class cabin were unnervingly silent to Yusuf as each member of the team composed themselves and reflected. Saito's hand rested on his chest, over his heart, his thumb rubbing back and forth, back and forth, as if trying to sooth away a phantom ache, or perhaps in self minded reassurance, his eyes unfocused. Fischer grasped the worn photograph of him and his father and his overpriced, barely broken in wallet in his shaking hand, somber eyes shifting from one to the other as he debated futures and father figures. Cobb's eyes scanned constantly about the cabin, taking in the infinite details of his companions that existed only in reality as doubts lingered in his mind, his thumb rubbing at the base of his ring finger where his wedding band once rested. Eames seemed at ease, but remained oddly silent, allowing everyone their own thoughts for the moment.

Arthur also observed his teammates one by one, anxious to land and begin debriefing each of them while the details were still fresh in their minds. For him, a man whose career was based on information, having a clear understanding of the mission in its entirety was a form of closure; allowing him to retire one job and move on to another. And in this case, with three level dreaming, successful inception, and shared limbo, his curiosity, his need to know, was almost maddening. The smug look on Eames' face was not helping.

Arthur completed his circle of observations with Ariadne in front of him and found himself annoyed at the plush, oversized first class seat that hid the architect from his view. He could only see her arm move, followed by the repeated thud of her bishop, the sound mixing with her ragged breathing in the unnatural silence. Ariadne always let her emotions show, a trait that all of the members of the group found enduring, but he had not seen her so rattled since her second shared dream. Or so quiet. His need to know what happened in the third level shifted from curiosity to an odd desperate, protective feeling. He had not had the time to train her for dreaming, had thought it unnecessary since he and Cobb had agreed that under no circumstances was she to go with. He had failed her, as her mentor. Badly, it seemed.

He looked over to Cobb again. The man was now staring, entranced, at the spinning top on his tray. Arthur hated that totem. It took far too long to tip, to reveal the truth. He had found Cobb staring at it in a dream once as it spun and spun, the man convinced that it would fall if only he gave it enough time. Neither could say for sure how long Dom had watched it, but Arthur gave the thing two minutes before intervening. The roll of the die was quick, effective, precise. In the silence the spinning sound itched in his ears, and Arthur rubbed his own die in between his fingers. He knew that this was reality, was happy to feel the pull of gravity again, but those two were obsessed with the need for reassurance.

. . .

LAX was loud, busy, and unfamiliar and customs was never quick and simple; questions and paperwork and scans grated on Ariadne's already fried nerves as she moved slowly from one line to another, surrounded by exhausted strangers being herded like cattle. The crowd pressed in as it became mixed with passengers from other international flights, and she could not help but jump every time a security guard passed her. After passing through the last line of security before the main airport she managed to find a little corner; a jut in the walls that was empty of foot traffic, and allowed herself to breathe. Deep, slow, calming breaths. As she stood against the wall, Ariadne's thoughts shifted to the end of the job. She had wanted to tell Arthur everything that had happened as they sat next to each other by the river, her river, knew that he was curious and felt that he was owed an explanation as to why she had come along, but she could not find the words. She had been relatively calm at that point. Shock maybe, or Arthur's own collectedness soothing her, or perhaps the mere presence of her newest teacher, whom she trusted completely. The reason lacked significance at this point, however, because ever since waking on the plane her nerves had been winding tighter and tighter.

Every muscle in her body jumped when a hand landed on her shoulder. Ariadne whipped around to find Arthur staring at her. His hand stayed.

"You weren't at baggage claim." He watched her shoulders drop and her posture relax, her face filling with a deep exhaustion he knew too well, felt in his own muscles, could be found on his own face.

Her eyebrows rose in confusion. "I didn't have any bags."

"Right." A forgotten detail that he should have remembered in her absence. "We were all supposed to have luggage to avoid suspicion, but since you joined late…" Ariadne sidled closer to the wall as people passed, and he let his explanation drop. "You need space, let's go."

She shook her head. "I don't think I can walk."

Arthur looked around; they were in the Continental terminal, and moved his hand from her shoulder to her upper back, guiding her toward the Frequent Flier Club room. "This way."

. . .

Arthur set down two muffins, blueberry, and two cups of overpriced, watered down coffee: one black, one with cream and sugar, before taking a seat across from Ariadne at their small table in the corner. Minutes passed in companionable silence, a television played CNN in the corner, planes taxied outside, businessmen traded small talk at the bar. He drank from his cup deeply, felt the bitter fluid burn its way down, then waited until she took a sip, her hands clutching the cup for warmth, comfort, familiarity.

"Ariadne." She turned her head from the tarmac to him, doe eyes meeting his. "What happened?"

"Mal shot Fischer." She took another sip, eyes still on his, as if those three words somehow explained everything.

Arthur's brow furrowed. "Mal was there?" A nod. "Did she send Fischer into limbo?" Another nod. "That's the last time I let Eames go to a lower level without me."

Ariadne smiled. It was faint, and it did not quite reach her eyes, but it was there. They both turned to watch a plane pass. CNN played a story on Robert Fischer. "That was my first time visiting Australia. Wish we could've stayed longer."

Arthur sipped his coffee. "I never liked it. Too warm."

Another smile, genuine and full. "Can't wear your three piece suites there, can you?"

Arthur turned to meet her gaze, playing offended. "I don't always wear a three piece."

She grinned this time. "I know, but they're your favorite." He smiled in acquiescence, his eyes crinkling slightly and his lips barely turning up.

Ariadne watched two CNN anchors discuss the unusual buyout of an airline company by an energy company. After a few minutes she turned back to him. "Why does Eames live in Africa?"

Arthur leaned back a little; a move that Ariadne had come to recognize as his version of a shrug. "Socially unstable countries offer a lot of quick, easy, jobs, and the government's too busy to worry about almost impossible to prove crimes."

"I guess I never thought of it like that." Arthur raised his eyebrows and she continued, "extracting information through dreaming. The perfect crime." Ariadne rubbed the cooling coffee cup back and forth in her hands as she thought. "Was it ever used legitimately?"

"By the United States government? No. It was developed to train soldiers, that's true, but the CIA recognized its potential. They've been using it for interrogation and information gathering purposes for years."

"And you?"

Arthur shifted in his seat. "Well… Miles, Dom, and Mal used it for genuine architectural research. It gave them the ability to create buildings without worrying about material, cost, or even physics."

She waited for him to continue, but he turned his attention to the passing planes again. Her brow furrowed. "And you?"

Arthur did let out a sigh this time, leaning forward again and meeting Ariadne's eyes. "It's a long story, and someday I'll tell you. But today isn't the day for it." Ariadne tried to hide her disappointment, but it was written clearly on her face. "I promise."

It was her turn to sigh, clearly neither was in the mood for deep conversation, but she felt like Arthur deserved the truth, and sooner rather than later. "Cobb and I went into limbo."

Arthur's eyebrows raised in surprise. He frowned. "You went into limbo?"

"Voluntarily. To get Fischer."

"Voluntarily?" His jaw clenched. She could have been lost. Forever. Panic raced through him at the thought. "For how long?"

She shook her head. "Minutes."

"You could've-"

"It was only minutes."

A pause. He was processing. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"I should've trained you for dreaming. I should've gone with Dom." He turned away, trying to hide his distress. "He should've told me. Everything."

Ariadne watched his face as he retreated into his own mind, his eyes filling with mournful sadness. And suddenly she realized that she had made a grave mistake. She had assumed that Mal had died a long time ago. "Arthur." He did not move, but his eyes focused. He was listening. "When did she die?"

"Six months ago. On a Thursday."

And suddenly Ariadne understood. Cobb was not obsessed with his dead wife, he was mourning her; living out his most cherished memories of her until he was ready to let her go. And living out her death. His grief had warped her in his mind, but he was telling the truth when he told her that it was not getting worse. With time, he would move on, but he did not have time. His children needed him. And he could not confide in his best friend, like Ariadne had insisted, because Arthur was mourning her, too. It showed in his reluctance to talk about her, in his barely repressed anger when he saw her in their shared dreams.

And professor Miles, looking old and worn and tired. The passion gone from his lectures, the humor from his eyes. She had never stopped to notice before, but it was so obvious now.

"Are you feeling better?" Ariadne jumped, her eyes snapping into focus to find Arthur staring at her, the grief gone from his face, replaced by genuine concern for her wellbeing. Here she had just discovered that Arthur was in pain and he was still focused on her. Had been focused on her since they met a month ago.

She nodded. "What do we do now?"

Arthur's brain itched: debriefing, answers, fill in the blanks, solve the puzzle, get closure. "You should take a few days in LA to rest. Then go home." Confusion marred Ariadne's features. How could she return to her previous life? As he watched her Arthur realized that he needed closure here, too, that his latest chapter as mentor needed an end. "I don't have any plans. I'll fly back with you, stay a few days in Paris."

She smiled. "Thank you."

. . .


	2. First Hug

First Hug

"Why didn't you let me help you?"

"Ariadne wanted me to tell you." They sat at Dom's table, sunlight streaming in. "I didn't. . ." The older man searched for the right words, was not sure that they existed. "I wasn't ready."

"Ready for what?"

"To be over her, to be done mourning." Dom rubbed the back of his neck. "I had this idea that if I told you, if I shared my grief, that I would be sharing something that only I should know. That I would be betraying her memory."

Arthur frowned; a rare, deep frown, as a mix of emotions rose inside him, burning at his lungs and stinging his eyes. "I miss her too, Dom."

The older man let out a deep sigh, seeing Arthur's pain for the first time. "I know. I know you do, and I'm sorry. I couldn't see that, before, but I do, now. She loved you, Arthur."

"I loved her."

They sat in silence, lost in their own thoughts.

"Uncle Arthur!"

"Uncle Arthur!" Laughter echoed down the hall as Philippe and James ran into the room, both impressively covered in dirt and sand. Arthur stood up, a genuine smile on his face that Dom had not seen since Mal died, as the children latched onto his legs. "Did you bring presents?"

Dom frowned, "James. That's rude."

James stepped back, head down. "I'm sorry."

Arthur ruffled his hair, "you're getting taller every time I see you."

James swatted Arthur's hand away as Philippe pulled on his pant leg. "Daddy said that you were bringing a pretty girl with you."

Arthur looked at Dom, "is that right?"

"Eames stopped by, said you two were together."

"I made sure she was ok. She went back to Paris."

"To school?"

"I don't know."

James pulled on Arthur's other pant leg. "So no pretty girl?"

"Not this time, but. . ." Arthur pulled two wrapped packages off of the table, "I do have these."

"Presents!"

. . .

Later, after the children were washed and fed and told a bedtime story, which Arthur had to make up on the spot, and tucked in bed, Arthur and Dom again sat at the table, beers in hand, as the mingled sounds of crickets and cicadas filling the air. Arthur, hair and clothes disheveled and wrinkled, nursed what was sure to be a sore lower back in the morning.

"Thanks for visiting them, when I couldn't."

Arthur nodded, wiping at a dirty handprint on his khakis. "I'm glad you made it back, Dom."

"When do you leave for Paris?"

If he was surprised by the question, Arthur hid it well, continuing to wipe at his pant leg. "I'm not going to Paris. We're not romantically involved."

Dom smiled. "I never said you were, and neither did Eames. You think too much. Quit overanalyzing everything."

Wipe wipe wipe. "That's my job."

"You enjoy her company, she makes you happy? Go explore, you're not doing anything right now, anyway."

Finally, Arthur looked up and was greeted with Dom's knowing smile. "Our relationship was strictly professional."

"I haven't seen you smile since Mal died. Except around her. Eames claimed that you even laughed a few times."

"I was planning on letting our friendship dissolve, we've only known each other for a month."

"And during that month you saw her every day, trained her for hours, introduced her to a new world. Friendships like that don't just dissolve. Besides, you'll work with her again someday. Do me a favor, Arthur, keep the friendship."

. . .

Twenty two hours, including a layover in New York City, gave Arthur plenty of time to overanalyze. This was a mistake. Ariadne had no reason to expect him. She had probably just settled back into a routine, and he was going to throw her off balance again.

"Where to, sir?"

Arthur debated internally. Despite being in Paris, despite traveling halfway around the world, he could not bring himself to give the taxi driver Ariadne's address. He decided to play the part of American tourist.

"A hotel near the Eiffel Tower, please."

The driver took in Arthur's pressed pants and button down shirt. He would take the long way. "Very good, sir."

. . .

Arthur, now showered, shaved, and in fresh clothes, leaned against the railing and thought of Mal. Of her and Dom's Paris apartment. Of her gentle hugs and light teasing after his long flights from New York to visit them. Paris would always remind him of her, and now it would always remind him of Ariadne, but where Mal's place in his life was clearly defined, and over, Ariadne's was mysterious and new.

. . .

Ariadne readjusted her backpack as she walked along the bridge, her mind cluttered with thoughts of lines and angles and weight bearing beams. Her eyes darted to a man leaning against the rail in a three piece suit, jacket folded and tucked under an arm. She sighed. Three piece suits always reminded her of him like a deep British voice reminded her of Eames or- she stopped. Took in the man's slicked back hair and lean figure. She clutched the bishop in her pocket, felt its uneven weight. Licked her lips. "Arthur?" She felt silly after saying it. The man did not turn, but she could tell that he was too tall, the suit was too cheap, the hair dark brown, not black.

"He doesn't look a thing like me."

Ariadne jumped and swallowed a small scream, a squeak escaping her lips instead. She turned to find Arthur taking in the man.

"He's wearing converse, for heaven's sake."

"Arthur!" She flung her arms around him in a tight hug, backpack falling to the ground. "You scared the shit out of me."

He chuckled and hugged her back.


End file.
